


Cross-Dressing, Crossfire, and All That Jazz In Between

by HoneyBadgerOverlord



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Crossdressing, Drinking, Innuendo, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Physical Abuse, Sexual Themes, Slurs, Verbal Abuse, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBadgerOverlord/pseuds/HoneyBadgerOverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which best friends Oliver and Allen don their stockings, rouge their knees, and head out for a hotsy-totsy night on the town. They just so happen to be dressed as dames. Boy does Ollie have some crazy ideas... And is Al involved with the mafia or what? Without a doubt it'll be one helluva evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention that there are a few minor historical inaccuracies in this story. Apologies! Those inaccuracies, however, should not hinder your enjoyment of the rip-roaring adventure you're about to read.

Just as the clock hit five the sign sitting in the front window of Kirkland’s Bakery was flipped to ‘closed’. This was done by a young man, petite in stature and not much older than twenty four years old. He then tied an apron around his waist, picked up a broom from the corner, and began to sweep up the dirt customers had tracked onto the wooden floor. As he labored cheerfully a light hum vibrated from his lips. Soon he was singing to himself, tapping his shoe to the rhythm.

“ _It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing. Doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah~_ ”

Even though the young man, whose name was Oliver, was the owner of the small business he did the majority of the work himself. The income his shop brought in was fairly steady, and he could afford to pay quite a few workers, but he only felt the need to hire one person.

In a tiny back room of the shop which acted as an office sat another young man who was just a few years Oliver’s junior. He was hunched at a rickety table of worn wood, gazing at papers from over a pair of slightly bent bifocals. After checking a record of the day’s sales and seeing that everything was in order he proceeded to sift through the mail that had been delivered earlier. There were a few bills and a monthly catalogue for baking supplies; the usual. At least that is what he thought until he discovered a scarlet envelope at the bottom of the stack.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled under his breath. The sight of the thing caused the young man to feel cold dread run down his spine. He took pride in being a tough sort of fellow but somethings… somethings were enough to make him more than nervous.

With slightly shaking hands he ripped open the top of the unmarked envelope and removed the precisely tri-folded letter. The palm of his hand smoothed the thick parchment out on the desk as he took in the delicately penned words. _Dear Allen Jones_ … began the letter. That was him. His jaw clenched tighter and tighter as he read on, his teeth grinding together as he processed information.

_Time is up._ “No shit,” he mumbled.

_Requested meeting,_ “Ain’t that polite?”

_You and your employer,_ and _evening of the seventeenth._ Allen quickly recalled that today was the seventeenth. It was a date that stuck out in his mind. For months Ollie had been pestering him for a night out at a club and he had finally consented after countless puppy dog looks and ‘Please oh _please,_ Allen?'s. If he were to cancel now his boss would not only have his head, but he would become aware of the situation at hand. Missing the “requested” meeting would mean pleasing Oliver… but inadvertently pissing off another boss. A different kind of boss. A mafia boss. Decisions, decisions…

“Al, poppet,” Oliver chirped in a cheery voice as he stuck his head into the room, “Have you finished looking at the paper work yet?”

Jumping about a foot in the air like the guilty man he was, Allen rushed to hide the letter under the mail and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah Ollie, I’m almost done. Just gimme a minute.” He hoped he didn’t show any signs of his nerves.

“Oh alright. But hurry up! We have lots of getting ready to do. I’ll be upstairs waiting.” With that he disappeared as quickly as he came.

 Allen heaved a sigh of frustration and removed his reading glasses. They got tossed carelessly on the table. Why did Oliver’s eyes have to sparkle with hope and gleam with so much joy? It would be almost painful to crush his spirits. Not almost- defiantly. And so the choice was made. Allen ripped the letter into fourths and tossed it into the waste bin. Mafia boss be damned. He was going to have a night on the town.

* * *

 

“You know what? Your ideas are stupid- _stupid!_ I swear to God I got no damn idea why I listen to you Ollie.”

Allen squirmed self-consciously as he ran a nervous hand through his short brunette bob. The moment they stepped out on the street he began to regret this terrible life choice. His dark brown eyes lined with kohl narrowed dangerously at his companion. “If this stunt gets me dead in an alleyway I’m gonna haunt you from the grave yah know that right? I’ll fuckin’ haunt you.”

“Oh calm yourself Allen. And watch your language, it isn’t befitting of a lady,” came the crisply accented reply of the Brit. Oliver lifted a compact mirror to his face and puckered his lips to properly paint them with the stick of color.

“Yeah whatever. And I ain’t no lady. Neither are you. We’re two queers dressed in drag.”

The Brit tucked the lipstick and compact back into his small purse, flashing Allen a grin. “Well you are quite right about that. However I think we look lovely, don’t you?”

Indeed the two were quite a sight to behold. Allen wore a red and black sleeveless evening dress, the waist straight and the skirt down to his ankles. On his feet were crimson heels that matched, a black shawl draped over his arms. Oliver was dressed in a Robe de style dress that was dusty pink in color. The skirt of it went only about an inch below his knee revealing the curve of his rather shapely legs which were covered in silk stockings held up by garters. His oddly pinkish blond hair was styled in a crop, framing his freckled face. Both were done up in makeup and thanks to a good deal of hair removal on both their parts they could actually pass for attractive women.

“We look… well we look like pretty hot stuff, I gotta say. You really think that guys are gonna pay attention to us dressed like this?”

“Without a doubt, Allie! Won’t it be nice to flirt with handsome men without getting the threat of having our bits chopped off?”

“Well yeah. But what’s gonna happen when they find out we ain’t dames?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Oliver but he wasn’t going to let it stop the fun time he had planned. “We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Now let’s go Allen! That place downtown is said to really be the bee’s knees.” With that he took his friend’s hand and dragged him to the corner so they could hail a cab.

The secret hole in the wall they were dropped off near was packed with young men and women dressed in the latest styles mingling with each other. It was dimly lit to create that feeling of mystery and danger they all craved.  The air was thick with the smell of perfume, cheap booze of the illegal variety, and sweat from the bodies of dancing people. Voices and the sound of a four piece band completed the atmosphere of the underground club.

“This is gonna be great Ollie, I should never have doubted yah. Hey look! There’s two fellas giving us eyes already. Let’s go over.” Strutting with a feminine swish of their hips, Allen and Oliver made their way to the bar where two men were leaning against it.

The two guys looked quite similar as if they were related somehow. Both had blonde hair pulled back in short ponytails and dark blue eyes. However there were significant differences between them. One was smooth shaven and built as if he knew of physical labor. His eyes held an interested gleam towards the ‘girls’ approaching him. The other had stubble across his chin as if he couldn’t bother to shave. In fact he looked as if he couldn’t even bother to be there in that moment, an apathetic dullness in his gaze.

“Hey there boys,” Allen addressed them both in a purring, higher pitched voice but he was focused on the muscled one who held a glass of something strong in a hand. “Me and my friend here saw you ogling at us from ‘cross the room. Care to explain?” He rested a hand on his waist, sporting his usual bold smirk. The man he spoke to returned the expression and allowed a rumbling chuckle to leave his lips.

“Well when I see something I like I tend to look at it. Got a problem with that?”

Allen grinned, “Not at all. Glad you like what you see. Hey you got a strange kinda accent. Where yah from, mister?”

“I’m from way up north, in Canada. And call me James, not mister.”

“Nice name. I’m Alana and this is Olivia.” Their female names had been decided before they arrived. “Who’s your friend?” He gave a vague nod towards the other blonde who was gulping from a glass of red wine. Oliver had been watching him with eyes filled with interest the entire time as James and Allen exchanged banter.

“That’s Francois, my cousin. I’m French-Canadian while he lacks the Canadian part. Guess that’s why he isn’t as handsome as me.” That quip made Allen snicker and Francois scowl.

“Boy do I like you, James,” Allen crooned as he took hold of James’ arm. “And I kinda like this song too. Let’s go kick up our heels, huh?”

“Sure why not,” James agreed and allowed himself to be lead onto the crowded dance floor.

Oliver clicked his tongue in annoyance. Leave it to Allen to abandon him at first chance. Though he was upset at his friend he knew that it was an opportunity to talk to the handsome Frenchmen alone. All he had to do was be nice. Everyone likes nice people, right?

“Hi!” he chirped, taking special care to keep his voice at a believably feminine pitch. Francois looked up from his wineglass to give Oliver a less than friendly look.

“What do you want?” he droned coldly. It was obvious that he was in no mood to be bothered. Oliver refused to be deterred by the grumpy demeanor. Either that or he didn’t detect it as most people would.

“I don’t _want_ anything, silly! I’m simply saying hello.” Oliver flashed his sweetest smile. Francois was not charmed by it as many others were.

“It is stupid to engage in conversation with someone unless you have something more intelligent to say than ‘Hi’,” he mocked the Brit’s voice in a squeak. “If you have nothing to say then leave me to my wine.”

Oliver’s mouth opened and closed like an indignant fish. How dare someone be so rude to him when all he was trying to do was be polite? “You have no manners, sir,” he huffed, crossing his arms in front of him. “You’re very unpleasant.”

“Then don’t talk to me,” he retorted before gulping his wine.

“I’ll talk to you if I please! Besides, I _do_ have something interesting to say.”

“Then say it, or get the hell out of my face.” The look in his eyes was so cold, so icy and harsh, that it gave Oliver some chills. He refused to look away, however. The intense staring contest between light and dark blue continued until he blurted out, “Blood can work as a substitute for eggs in baked goods!”

Francois blinked slowly. “What?”

“I said,” Oliver took a breath, “blood can work as a substitute for eggs when baking. It has to do with the proteins, I think…”

“Fascinating.”

“You really think so?” He beamed.

“Oui. Fascinating how you think that is interesting.” His lips twitched into what could barely be called a smile at Oliver’s aggravated expression.

“Well tiddlywinks to you too!” He was thoroughly tired of Francois’ shi- sassafras. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even tried speaking to him.

Oliver ordered a tiny glass of strong smelling liquor from the bar and began nursing it with a sour expression. He wasn’t much of a drinker but talking with the Frenchman made him feel like he needed some alcohol in his system. He ordered another.

“I can’t believe that my first time flirting was with a meanie-pants,” he grumbled to himself, none too quietly. The drinks were already loosening his tongue. Francois looked up from his glass.

“That was flirting? Pathetic.”

“Hush your baguette hole!” he whined, “I tried my hardest. Showing someone that you have interest in them is difficult. Should I be direct? I think I’ll just be direct. I’m being direct!” Francois watched with blank eyes as Oliver moved closer and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“You do not know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do. I gave you a kiss because I like you.”

“You called me a meanie-pants not but a few minutes ago.”

“Yes.”

Francois seemed to be getting irritated. “Do not be such a foolish girl. Tch! Kissing men you don’t know. You are a tramp.”

He blinked his wide, moony eyes and mumbled, “But I want to get to know you.”

“Fine,” the Frenchman snapped, and he grabbed Oliver by the wrist. “Let’s go get to know each other.”

He found himself being pulled along through throngs of people to a shadowy back corner of the club. His back hit the wall almost painfully. Francois loomed over him.

“What are we-” he was interrupted by a mouth tasting of cigarettes and red wine pressing to his. “Mmf!” came a weak protest but the kiss didn’t end until the other man broke it off.

“What the dickens was that?” Oliver demanded breathily, freckled cheeks flushed. Without offering a reply Francois dived back down for another kiss. The Brit put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Answer me.”

“This is exactly what you asked for.” The little space left between them was closed.  Oliver was going to clarify that no, this isn’t what he had asked for, but kisses between the junction of his neck and shoulder left him quite speechless.

“T-this is a public place,” he stammered, “We really shouldn’t be doing something so- Ngh!” Teeth nipped at his skin. “Lewd…”

He couldn’t deny it though. He enjoyed the lips at his throat and the hands rubbing down his sides. Francois’ body was deliciously warm and firm against his. It all caused the rather unfamiliar sensation of arousal to cloud his senses.

Suddenly Francois chuckled low in Oliver’s ear, flicking his tongue around the rim. “Something is poking me,” he whispered gruffly.

Oh no.

Oh no.

_Oh no_.

Those four, terrifying words snapped Oliver out of his lust induced haze in an instant. In his mortification he pushed the man away from him.

“I’m sorry!” he cried, tears forming in his eyes, “I’m so, so sorry! I only wanted to flirt with handsome guys without being threatened! I never meant for things to get this far! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m-”

“Shut up,” Francois commanded with a scowl. Oliver closed his mouth with a pathetic whimper. “And stop crying. You will ruin your makeup.” He used his thumb to gently wipe up the tears that had fallen.

“You’re not angry?” Oliver sniffed.

“Non.”

“B-but I’m male…”

“So?” he scoffed. “That does not matter. I will be with whoever I want regardless of sex. Besides,” a smirk curled to his lips and he cupped Oliver’s face in a hand, “you are oh so very cute.”

“Hush,” he mumbled, turning his head in embarrassment. “I’m upset because I feel like I’ve lied to you from the very beginning. That’s not a healthy way for any relationship to start.”

“Well you can tell the truth now, can’t you?”

He gave a shy little grin. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I think I’ll introduce myself properly. My name is Oliver.” The Brit held out a freckled hand. Francois lifted it and pressed his lips to the palm making Oliver giggle at the roughness of his stubble.

“Bonjour, Oliver. I look forwards to knowing you.”

“As do I!” he paused before quietly adding, “But not like this. We haven’t even shared a proper conversation yet we’re already necking in the corner.”

A flicker of disappointment passed through Francois’ eyes but he grunted and grumbled, “Fine if you want. But I do not like talking.”

“That’s alright! I’ll just tell you about myself,” Oliver chirped and took the larger hand in his. A bright smile lit up his features. “I knew that you weren’t really a meanie-pants.”

“Whatever…” he huffed in his monotonous voice, but his eyes didn’t hold the same cold look they usually did.

Together they leaned against the wall; Oliver snuggled up close to him as he yammered on about cupcakes or something. Excitement shone in his gaze with every word. Not that he would ever actually admit it but Francois enjoyed the moment.  It seemed as if they could just fade into the night that way, voices and music swinging around them.

 

 End of Part I


	2. Part II

And all the while Allen and James were moving among the crowd of people as if they had never danced before. Hand in hand they swayed and shimmied, swung and shuffled. Wild jazz with roaring horns made their pulses beat to the quick time signature.

Al whooped in delight when James quite easily lifted him up and dipped him low. The plan was going much smoother than he had ever expected it to. Sure he was posing as a dame but hey, it was worth it. That Canadian fella sure could move! Plus, the dress was actually starting to grow on Al. Maybe he would start wearing them more often.

The song ended and the couples on the dancefloor thunderously applauded the band. A female soloist in a black dress glided onstage as a slower tune began to play. People got close to each other again to sway in each other’s arms.

“I’m… not much of a slow dancer.” Allen could have sworn the look in James’s eyes was almost embarrassed.

“That’s alright doll,” he soothed, patting his shoulder. “I ain’t either.” Arm in arm they made their way to a table near the stage. Heat from dancing too close to other warm bodies made perspiration dot both of their foreheads. Al fanned himself with his hand.

 “Geez Louise! It’s like Hell in here,” he whined as he caught his breath. Some of his makeup was beginning to wash off with the sweat. He removed his shawl in hopes of getting cooler.

James undid the top two buttons of his shirt. “You said it. I think it’s worse for me because it never gets this warm where I live.”

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask. What’re you and yah cousin doing all the way down here in Chicago?”

“Francois invited me to come down here with him because he doesn’t think I have enough fun in my life. I spend the majority of my time at the logging camp and carpenter shop because I have to take care of myself. Living isn’t free.”

“But working all the time ain’t living. Life is a helluva lot shorter than you might think. I plan to have all the fun I can while I’m still able.”

“Fun doesn’t put a roof over your head and food in your stomach,” he scoffed.

“I damn well know that! I have a job at Olivia's bakery. That’s the only reason I’m still alive.” A bitter sort of laugh left his lips. “Thank goodness that limey’s crazy enough to actually not care and hire a mutt like me.”

James frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Allen lifted up a hand. The dim lighting made his lovely brown skin tone even darker. “Negro, white and Native American. If that ain’t mixed up I dunno what is.”

“Put your damn hand down,” he growled. “You’re not a mutt, you’re not mixed up; you’re a damn person. How many years will it take for everyone to understand that?” There was strained silence between them until Al gave a gap toothed grin.

“You ain’t like any man I’ve ever met before, James.” He shifted his body to lean in from across the small table. “I think you’re real nice, real handsome.” The Canadian man hesitated a moment before shifting closer as well with his head tilted down. Their lips were a hair’s width away from brushing together.

“So how ‘bout you get me a drink?” Spoke Allen breathily. James blinked at the words before beginning to chuckle. Of course this dame would like playing hard to get.

“Whiskey?”

“Double shot, on the rocks.”

“I don’t think there’s anything that makes my heart go a-flutter more than a lady who knows how to drink,” he crooned, only the slightest bit sarcastic. Al watched him walk away with great interest until he disappeared into the throngs of people.

With an annoyed huff he scratched his cheek. The blush was irritating his skin. His kohl was most likely smeared but he didn’t give it much thought. How in the hell did women deal with wearing all that face paint _and_ wearing high heels _and_ having to act so dainty all the time? Good thing he was only Alana for the evening. By tomorrow morning he would be Allen again. A frown pulled at his lips. And James would have never tried to kiss Allen. He had no idea Allen even existed. That was a predicament. Al was starting to feel a sense of attachment to a man who didn’t even know his true identity.

_And he never will,_ Al thought decidedly. _I’ll just enjoy what I can now. Good things don’t last long anyways. Besides…_ For the first time that night his mind wandered to the meeting he had decided not to attend. _I probably don’t have much longer to live anyhow. For all I know this is my final night out._

Not wanting to ponder on that grim subject any longer he glanced around. No wonder James hadn’t returned yet. The club was packed ridiculously tight with a colorful variety of individuals. Looking past a group of women in pastel dresses, he spotted someone who held his attention at once. It was a man, slim and dark haired, dressed impeccably in a black suit. Al stared, not even realizing the man noticed him until a deliberate wink was sent his way. Oh how flattering! Being in drag really did work wonders. The gesture was returned with a coy smile and a wave. The man’s lips curled into an amused smirk but before he could make his way over to the table a hand was clasped on his shoulder. Another man came into view, also in a suit, blonde hair, a harsh looking scar across his left cheek. He glared towards the table, blue eyes alight with recognition.

Oh no.

Oh no.

_Oh no._

That scar. Al knew that scar. Al knew that scar because a couple years back when he was living on the streets he got sauced on cobra whiskey at a brothel in New Jersey and during a drunken bar fight he had given an aggressive German that scar with a well-placed slash of a streak knife. Those were… those were some dark times in his life. Things were about to get a helluva lot darker, however, if he didn’t high tail it out of there while he still could. That German also just so happened to be employed by the last person Al wanted to see that evening.

Heavy panic fogging his mind made him a lot more conspicuous when he sprung up from his seat and tried to move away from the area. What the hell was he gonna do? Not getting caught was certainly a good start. He was too afraid to even look over his shoulder to see if the German was following. What was his name again anyway? Luke? Larry? Not like it would matter when he got his thick fingers around Allen’s throat.

Finally he made it to a less crowded pocket of the club. He looked left. There was no threat it sight. He could feel himself start to breathe again. He looked right.

“Ciao, _bella.”_

“Christ on a bike!” He clutched a hand to his heart, jumping a foot back. When he did he could feel his back hit something solid but warm. He reached his other hand behind himself. Hm. Clothing felt real nice, firm muscles underneath. His hand travelled up higher. Strong jawline, slight stubble, raised skin, like a scar, on the cheek…

“H-hey there uh… Ludwig, is it?” He yelped when his arm was grabbed and twisted behind his back.

“Lutz, actually,” came the heavily accented reply growled into his ear. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did, Jones.” Al could have sworn he heard his wrist crack a little.

“I am disappointed that I had to go through all of this trouble just to track you down.” His fear of the other man had caused Al to forget that the mob boss was even standing there, perfectly suited in Italian fabric and looking self-satisfied as always. “I even had Kuro write you a nice little note so he could practice his English. You went through so much trouble, didn’t you Kuro?” Al hadn’t even noticed the dark haired man was off to the side next to Lutz.

“Listen Luciano I’m real sorry-”

“I go through all this damn trouble to try and be civilized but I have to hunt you down like the filthy dog you are! And where do I find you?” His lips curled into a sneer. “At a club, dressed as a woman. What kind of disgusting pervert are you?”

Al swallowed. “The kind who likes dancin’ with attractive fellas?”

“You find me attractive?” Al found himself ripped from Lutz’s grasp, a protective arm wrapping around his waist. James smiled down at him. “Well thanks. You’re quite a doll yourself.”

“Took yah long enough to get them drinks.” There was no malice in his words. He was grinning like a fool, never happier to see a man in his whole life.

“I got back to the table with them and saw you weren’t there. What the fuck are pieces of trash like these doing around a lady like you?”

“That is no lady,” Luciano spat viciously, his smile cruel. “If you were planning to bed that dog you would have gotten quite the surprise. That is a man.”

“Oh I know.”                                                                                                          

“What?” came the collective reply.

An eyebrow was raised. “I know. I’m not dense, eh.”

“You knew the whole time?” Al asked quietly. This was unbelievable.

“Of course I did. You’re a little too handsome to fully pass but if you want to be a lady you are one- oof!” James’s sides were squeezed tight in a joy filled hug.

“By George I swear you’re the greatest man I’ve ever met! I don’t actually wanna be a dame, my name is actually Allen, and this was actually all a crazy scheme of Oliver’s! I’m real sorry and I hope you still like me even though I’m not pretending as a girl anymore.”

“I like men too so-” That time he was interrupted by a mouth pressed over his. Maybe this wasn’t the type of person to play hard to get after all. The kiss seared James right down to his very core.

“Scusami,” Luciano hissed in annoyance. They paid no attention to him, only continuing their heated embrace.

“Scusami,” the Italian said again, this time louder. ‘One moment’ Al gestured, holding up a single finger. There were some rather obscene moans between him and James.

“Listen up idiotas!” When Allen and James broke away from each other there was a gun pointed in their direction. “I did not come to this club tonight to watch that disgusting scene you just pulled. I am here because that,” he pointed towards Al, “that he-she owes me two thousand dollars plus interest. I loaned it to him so that his little friend could open a bakery and now it is time to pay up.”

“But Luciano I ain’t got that kind of money! Just gimme some more time.”

“No. No more time. If you cannot pay your debt with money you will do so with your body and soul. There are people down in the south of your country who do not consider slavery to be over.”

Al clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. “You fucking wouldn’t!”

“You act as if you do not even know me,” he chuckled. “Now come with us quietly. There’s no need to make a scene.”

“And what if I don’t let you take him?” James’s voice was still calm but his eyes burned with fury.

“If you interfere you will get hurt. Perhaps I will shoot you or Lutz will break your neck with his bare hands. Either one works for me. I suggest you leave while you still can.”

There was complete and total silence between the five men standing there. Luciano smirked. Kuro seemed bored. Lutz’s eyes were shooting daggers at Al. Al was staring at James. He wouldn’t just leave him. He wouldn’t just walk away.

But he did.

“You bastard! You son of a whore!” Even as Luciano began pushing him along, Allen screamed at James. “Burn in Hell, you hear me?” The gun was pressed to the small of his back.

“Shut your mouth. Do not make a scene or Lutz will beat you when we get outside.” Though he suspected he would do that anyway he quieted down. Anger wrenched in his stomach. What was he even expecting? Did he think that James would just fight for him like some knight in a fairy tale? They had met just a few hours ago but a part of Al hoped that the man had cared for him somehow. Apparently not.

The only way to exit the club was to get through the crowds of people. It was most dense by the bar so Luciano forced Allen across the dance floor. Another slow song was ending and the band was starting to pick up again. Young men and woman paired up with each other and began to groove without a care in the world. Wild dips and twirls jostled against the men, the only ones not dancing. There was a split moment when Al found the barrel of the gun not to his back. He quickly allowed himself to be consumed into the mass of movement.

The mob boss seethed when he realized his prisoner had escaped. “After him!” he roared to his cronies over the music. Lutz and Kuro forced their way between people in a frantic search for Jones who, little did they know, was dancing with a man in hopes of blending in.

“May I intervene?” someone asked the man. He relinquished Allen into the other’s arms with a swing.

“You!” James merely smiled and elegantly dipped his ‘lady’ low.

“You didn’t really think I’d run away like that, did you? I went to find Oliver and Francois. They were doing some heavy petting in the corner.” Al couldn’t help but hoot with laughter.

“Damn Ollie! Didn’t think you’d know how to have that much fun. Where are they now?”

“Right here, love!” chirped a voice from a couple that danced up next to them. Oliver’s hair was a bit messy and a few discolored marks were visible on his pale throat. “Now what in heaven’s name is going on?”

“There’s no time to explain! We gotta get out of here now or-” From seemingly nowhere a fist busted into his face. James tried to catch him before he fell but was a second too late.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Lutz had murder in his eyes as he towered over the fallen man.

Oliver gasped in outrage. “No one hurts my darling Allen!” From his purse he whipped out… a steak knife. “Get away from him you big meanie!” In one powerful thrust the blade was buried into the German’s shoulder blade.

“Aah!” he bellowed, bucking like an enraged bull, trying to grasp the weapon embedded in his flesh. All four of them stared.

Francois gave a low whistle with amused awe. “Merde, Oliver.” James nodded in agreement as he helped the fallen to his feet.

“There they are!” It seemed that Luciano and Kuro had finally spotted them.

“Hoof it?” suggested Al. No one needed to be told twice. They _ran_ , plowing through anyone in their way. A few gun shots rang behind them, followed by a chorus screams. It then seemed like everyone present was trying to exit the club at once. James grabbed onto Oliver’s hand so he wouldn’t get trampled. When they escaped they bolted down the street, both thinking that the other two were close behind. Francois and Allen had gotten caught in the stampede. Luckily they weren’t separated enough not to find each other once they got out. They happened to, however, run in the opposite direction of their companions.

The helluva evening was just getting started.

 


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been significantly revised. This is not the Part III you thought you knew, folks. Enjoy.

A mob of people racing from what was supposed to be nothing but a social club was more than enough to get the police’s attention. Luciano and his men walked quickly but casually away from the scene just as cop cars started pulling up to investigate the mass disturbance. Despite being rather on the short side the mob boss moved with furious strides of his legs that put him a few feet ahead of his subordinates. Lutz and Kuro appreciated the distance. After the humiliating defeat, Luciano was surely going to be in one of his moods, and no one wanted to be in close proximity to that.

It didn’t take too long for the trio to get to a certain part of the city few dared to visit in the light of day, let alone the middle of the night. There were considerably less streetlights illuminating the cracked and littered streets. The occasional lone person that would slink by or inebriated couple that stumbled past had faces shrouded in shadow. Anyone could be lurking around the corner of an alley, but if they were a criminal they were probably somehow involved in Luciano’s intricate ring of crime. Because of that he actually considered those slums the safest place for himself and his residence of operation which, quite unfortunately in his eyes, was Favoloso.

They stopped in front of a three-floor building made of plain stone. It was rather unexceptional and forgettable. Luciano pounded his fist on the unmarked door. A few moments later a slot moved aside to reveal playful brown eyes behind a pair of half rimmed glasses.

“Hallo, hallo! Password, please.” The mob boss’s lips turned up in a snarl.

“Roland, you imbecile! I am in no mood for games.”

Eyebrows rose in mock innocence. “But I’m not playing games. I was told by the owner of this club that if I let anyone in who didn’t know the password that I would be… what was it he said? Oh ja, I was told I would be ‘skinned alive and made into a rug for people to wipe their shit covered boots on’.”

“I am the owner of this club!”

“Then you should know the password, ja?”

“One of you idiots give me your gun.” Kuro took one from his belt and placed it in Luciano’s waiting palm.

“Really now, there’s no need to get so-” The sentence was cut off by a yelp when a bullet embedded itself in the metal only a few inches away from the slot. Roland adjusted his glasses, swallowing. “Alright, geez. You really are in a foul mood.” Luciano handed the weapon back to his subordinate as the bolts were undone. The door swung open to reveal a man standing there with ginger hair kept in a ponytail wearing nothing but a red silk robe and a pair of high heels. Despite being shot at only seconds ago, there was a grin on his lightly freckled face. “Welcome to Favoloso, darlings. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Put some goddamn clothes on,” Luciano growled and pushed past. Kuro followed silently after him, but Lutz stopped to smirk at Roland.

“You look amazing in red, poppy.”

“Don’t I? I bought this just the other day, wonderful bargain. Lutz, love, is that a knife in your shoulder or are you just happy to see me?”

“Well I’m always happy to see you,” he chuckled weakly, then turning to jog and catch up with his boss. Roland pursed his lips, watching the man go.

“I really wish he’d be more careful…”

 

* * *

  
To describe Favoloso as fancy would be an understatement. The club was extravagant almost to the point of absurdity. It was as if everything was either touched gold by Midas or kissed rose by Aphrodite. Velvet curtains with glittering tassels draped the walls. Crystal chandeliers twinkled in the low, pinkish light. Patrons lounged with drinks in hand on luxurious chaises or fine leather chairs. Patrons could also be seen writhing shamelessly with each other in those seats. In pairs, in threes, man, woman, other- it really didn’t seem to matter. The air was heavily perfumed and thick and intoxicating. To enter the club was to enter a lascivious pipe dream, a fantasy. Lutz loved it. Luciano loathed it. Even though he was the technical owner he seemed to have no control over what happened there if it wasn’t related to his mafia. Favoloso was his brother’s territory.

On a stage, there was a burlesque performance. A man in a coral evening gown that touched the floor seductively crooned sweet nothings into a microphone. People half-dressed in colorful corsets and underwear swayed their hips to the sound of his voice to feed the audience’s ravenous eyes. Though he would have loved to stay and watch, Lutz slipped past boozed couples and busy servers to get to a back room through an unmarked door. It was an office with nothing but a large mahogany desk at center. Luciano sat behind it, leaned back in his chair, his boots resting on the smooth wood. Between his tapered fingers, he toyed with small, yet wicked looking knife. An expression more sour than usual pulled at his face. He seemed to have been in the middle of saying something to a group of his subordinates when Lutz showed up.

“Where were you? Get your stupid ass in here.” Lutz slammed the door and stood by Kuro. Luciano glared daggers.

“As I was saying, I am dangerously disappointed. This evening was not at all what I was expecting. It seems that one of- if not the most- powerful crime organization in this city has somehow been outmaneuvered by a bunch of freaks.” It took only the blink of an eye for the blade in his hand to travel across the room and firmly embed in the door. Lutz stiffened at the sound of it whizzing by his ear. “How did this happen?”

Silence.

The boss swung his legs off of his desk one at a time. He took his time standing up. There was only the faint sound of music from the other side of the door as he stretched his arms. He moved quietly across the floor, a predator. He stopped in front of an albino man with nervous eyes and snowy hair to his shoulders. “Gillian.”

“Yes sir?” His Germanic accented voice was nearly a whisper.

“Do you know how this happened?” He shook his head.

“No sir. I wasn’t there.” Luciano moved on to the short haired woman next to Gillian who sported a suit just like the rest of them.

“Ezra.”

“Sir.” She had a European accent of her own; it was Hungarian.

“How did this happen?” The woman smirked.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Kuro, you don’t know how this happened either, do you?” The Japanese man shook his head. Luciano stepped in front of Lutz. His eyes were unreadable. “Lutz.” There was an audible swallow. Lutz kept his gaze  
straight ahead.

“Boss.”

“Do you by chance know how this fiasco occurred?” He shook his head. Luciano clicked his tongue. “No one seems to know shit around here. You all lack more brains than I previously thought.” The boss shifted his cold gaze to the faces of his other three subordinates before returning it to Lutz. “I think that whoever was in charge of the mission should be taking the blame, don’t you?” Silence. “Who did I put in charge of the mission?” Lutz clenched his fists at his side. He despised how forcefully his heart beat in his chest. He did not want to speak, for he was damned if he did. But he also was damned if he didn’t. The pain in his shoulder that had only been a dull ache (he had gotten hurt so much worse, so many different times) intensified to a nearly unbearable throb. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Me.”

“Hm?”

“You put me in charge of the mission.” His blunt nails dug into his palms.

“That I did. Do you know what that means, Lutz?”

“No,” he responded, even though he did know. He knew all too well. A forceful hand yanked him down by his tie.

“Look me in the eyes when you speak to me.”

“N-no.” Nerves made his voice crack. Lutz could see a sadistic little smile twitch at the man’s lips. It was the only tell-tale sign of how much Luciano relished his subordinate’s fear. But he wasn’t satisfied with just fear: he wanted suffering.

“It means that this fuck up is entirely your fault. Your utter lack of competence cost me my target. Now that freak is on the run, and I have to waste my invaluable time hunting him down. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“…Sorry?”

Luciano’s sharp left hook smashed into Lutz’s jaw. A jab to his stomach knocked the breath from his lungs, and kicks to his shins with heavy boots brought him to the ground. Hit after hit rained down upon on him. He knew better than to fight back. Ezra and Kuro seemed perfectly callous towards the scene. Gillian winced at each strike as if they were on his own flesh.

It was a good five minutes until Luciano’s temper tantrum came to a close. The grand finale of the abusive show was him putting his foot on Lutz’s face and gradually adding pressure until there was a pained whimper. “You disgust me,” the boss sneered, “but most unfortunately you disappointment me. You’re pathetic. You’re the most pathetic man I have ever seen.” Lutz had dark bruises blooming in patches across his skin. Blood trickled from his busted nose down his chin. His left eye was nearly swollen shut.

“Let this be a warning to you all.” Luciano turned to face his subordinates. “I do not like to be disappointed. Ezra, you are now in charge of the mission. Go with Gillian and investigate the bakery. If you see any of those four I want you to apprehend them. To be quite honest I do not care who you kill in the process as long as you take Jones alive. I want the satisfaction of dealing with him myself.”

“You got it, sir! Let’s go, Gilly.” She grabbed the albino by the wrist. Gillian gave Lutz a pitying look before he was pulled away.

“Kuro, go to Jones’s home. If he shows up there return immediately and inform me. Get the address book from Roland so you’ll know where to go.”

“Roland’s a bit busy right now.” In the doorway stood a woman with long auburn hair. She wore a particularly short rose colored dress. “You know how he hates to be interrupted when he’s in the middle of a strip tease.” Out of what could only be described as criminal instinct, Luciano and Kuro whipped firearms from out of the breast pockets of their suits. The woman seemed unfazed by three guns being pointed in her direction.

“Just who do you think you are, bella?” The woman clicked her tongue.

“Your brother, for one thing.” Luciano’s face showed his recognition (and apparent distain) for the blonde man who was revealed once the wig was taken off. Even without the long hair he looked very feminine and lovely. His eyes, which were the same brown as Luciano’s, were lined in kohl and the lids dusted with gold shadow. “Geez Luci, you can’t recognize your own twin with a little bit of makeup on? I’m glad I was so convincing though.”

“Shut up.” Flavio, the boss’s slightly older brother, grinned. His teeth stood out brightly against his crimson lipstick.

“You’re terribly cruel to me, brother.” He raised an eyebrow in the direction of the bloodied man still on the ground. “You’re terribly cruel to so many people. What’s happened now that’s gotten you so upset? Do you need big brother to make it better?” Luciano looked like he was going to say something but turned and stomped out the door instead. His crony followed. Flavio sighed. “What a brat he is.”

“You’re telling me.” Even when Lutz sat up slowly his head spun. Flavio offered him an arm to steady himself on. Despite wearing precariously high heels he was able to support the injured man as they moved out of the office and into the main club again. They went through a door marked ‘performers only’ by the stage that led to a small hallway. On the left was a dressing room, on the right was a makeup room, and at the end of the hall was a pink door with the initials ‘FV’ written in gold cursive. That’s where the two entered. Inside the quaint parlor, the wood of the furniture was dark and most everything else was some intoxicating shade of gold or pink.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” The lock on the door clicked softly when it was turned. Lutz collapsed on a plush little couch, giving a weak groan. Flavio cooed sympathetically.

“Don’t worry, my darling. Flavi will take good care of you.” He made his way to the vanity framed with lights. The desk of it was strewn with feminine beauty essentials: compacts of rouge and tubes of lip color and sticks of eyeliner. The auburn wig was carefully placed on one of the many stands that added to the bright clutter. He pulled a leather doctor’s bag from the space beneath the vanity. “It’s a shame, actually.”

“Hm?”

“That you get hurt so often I have to keep a kit of medical supplies in my dressing room. Sit up for me a little. Yes, just like that. There’s a good boy.” He sat on the couch next to the man and unzipped the bag.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Understandable. But he didn’t put this in here, did he?” Lutz winced at the gentle tug to the knife still in his shoulder.

“No. That happened during the mission.”

“I’m going to take it out on three.”

“Fine.”

“One.” Flavio yanked out the blade in a single movement then pressed bandages to staunch the bleeding.

“You said three.”

“You know I always do it on one. Now be still.” He expertly went through all the proper motions to treat the stab wound. With a cloth, he tenderly wiped away the blood smeared across Lutz’s scarred face before moving on to the injuries Luciano had inflicted. Lutz grimaced at the sting of his cuts but remained quiet. He inhaled deeply. The room smelled overwhelmingly of floral. “There. You’re all patched up now. Tell me how you are feeling.”

“Everything still hurts.” He laid a hand on his bandaged shoulder. “But not like it did before,” he added for Flavio’s sake.

“I wish I could do more, my darling.” He took one of Lutz’s calloused hands between his soft ones. “I wish I could take away all of your pain with a kiss.”

“If that worked then life would be a fairytale.”

“You’re right about that,” Flavio sighed. “We’re certainly living no fairytale.” He stood to return the medicine bag to the vanity when there was a hand around his wrist.

“I wouldn’t mind you trying though.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

The bag was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Flavio settled himself in Lutz’s lap so that their legs tangled and hips were pressed snugly to hips. Their lips met, the kiss chaste at first, then becoming impassioned when Flavio decided to bite.

“Minx,” Lutz breathed heavily. He ran his hands over Flavio’s full thighs. Lutz never failed to enjoy the warm weight of his lover nestled on top of him. Thanks to a carb filled diet, Flavio had rolls and curves and stretch marks that Luciano did not. It was yet again another way the two varied, and Lutz was more than grateful for it. Nothing would be worse than thinking he was with his abusive boss in a moment of intimacy. Just the thought of Luciano urged him to dart his eyes towards the door.

“I locked it already,” Flavio’s crooning voice assured him. “Don’t worry yourself, my darling. Just keep touching me.”

Reassuring kisses were peppered up Lutz’s throat, across his jaw, to his ear. Flavio guided rough hands under his dress, and Lutz was all too eager to squeeze handfuls of generous, unyielding flesh. Whatever the Italian had on under his frock was lacey and probably pink, and the thought made Lutz delirious with excitement. Being with Flavio always had that effect on him. His mind spiraled into a different reality when he allowed himself to become lost in his senses and the Flavio, Flavio, _Flavio_ enveloped around him. Everything was rose colored and sweet, a hedonistic haze. He felt intoxicated.

“Jacket off,” Lutz implored in a moan. He was unbearably flushed under his suit. Flavio assisted with removing the garment then promptly returned to showering his lover with affection. He lustfully sucked marks across his skin that had the potential to last for days. Flavio stroked his nails along Lutz’s scalp, feeling a swell of pride at how nicely he marked what was his. He frowned though at the other bruises that had been caused by his brother.

“Do you live in fear of him?” The question was out of Flavio’s mouth before he realized he was thinking it. Lutz softly groaned a pitiful ‘yes’ without missing a beat. He nuzzled his lover’s hand. Flavio frowned deeper. “I figured you do. He doesn’t know how to properly treat anyone let alone those loyal to the Vargas family. Heaven only knows why nonno made him the boss. He’s disgracing my name.”

“He won’t for much longer,” Lutz mumbled into Flavio’s palm. The Italian blonde laughed prettily.

“Oh, you’re right my darling! I shouldn’t worry; it causes wrinkles. Everything will be changing quite soon.” He gave Lutz’s mouth a gentle kiss. “Still in pain?”

“A little.”

“You’re going to need a lot more than kisses then, aren’t you my darling?” He shimmied out of his dress. The German licked his lips, imaging the salt and musk and warmth of Flavio’s skin on his tongue.

“I know you’ll take good care of me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lutz left Flavio’s room close to an hour later looking like a satisfied mess. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair was in more disarray than usual. All of the marks that had been given to him by Luciano had been darkened to hickeys by Flavio’s mouth. God, Flavio had one helluva mouth! Lutz was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly ran into someone while exiting the club. It was Roland. He was wearing a dress and a feather boa and a sheen of sweat over his freckled skin.

"Well well well, don’t you look pleased as punch. I was looking for you after I heard what Luciano did, but you weren’t anywhere to be found. I should have expected you were with our sweetheart.” Lutz chuckled.

“You know how Flav is.” That was really all that needed to be said. Both men were well aware of how Flavio could act akin to an incubus when given the chance. “How was your performance?”

“Resplendent! I sang. I danced. I was a star.”

“As always. I’m sorry I missed it.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Fuck. It’s an ungodly hour. I’m going to see if I can get a meal before Luciano decides he needs me again.”

“But didn’t you just eat?” Roland leered. A smirk curled to Lutz’s mouth at the man’s suggestiveness.

“He did most of the eating actually.”

“That would explain the lipstick all over your face. Here darling, I got it.” His lithe fingers tenderly wiped away the smears of crimson.

“Thanks, poppy.” He pecked a kiss on his hand. “Auf Wiedersehen.”

“Auf Wiedersehen!” He pressed his lips to the corner of Lutz’s mouth and flounced away, a lovely creature of silk and feathers.

“Beilschmidt.” How a voice so cold could hold any amount of amusement Lutz did not know, but the lilt of Luciano’s voice over each syllable of his name held traces of venomous delight.

“Boss.” Lutz turned around. Luciano held a half empty glass of red wine between his fingers. His other hand held his gun.

“What was that?”

“Excuse me-?”

“What was that little interaction between you and the poof?” He gestured the way Roland had gone with his weapon.

“Roland, he- he was just being friendly. You know how he can be.” Lutz rambled on while Luciano drained the rest of his drink.

“You aren’t a faggot, are you?” His heart beat wildly in his throat, his throat that was covered in purpling hickeys given to him by a man who kissed frightened tears from his cheeks and whispered, ‘Darling, my beloved darling’ while making him see the cosmos dance behind his eyes.

“Of course not. That would be disgusting.”

“Good. You may be pathetic, but at least you’re not a filthy cocksucker like my brother.” He said this as if he were giving a compliment. “You screwed up earlier but honestly you’re a reliable member of this family. You do as you’re told, like a well-trained dog. I can appreciate that in those who work for me. I demand loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” he echoed.

“You’ve always been loyal to me, Lutz. You will reap the rewards of your loyalty soon.” He shoved his empty glass into Lutz’s hands. “I have some paperwork to do. Stay around here and watch for any suspicious activity.”

“Yes sir.” He turned to leave his boss’s presence as soon as possible but was stopped. Oh god why did he have to be stopped?

“Lutz.” He forced himself to look over his shoulder.

“Yes sir?” His voice wavered. He was looking down the barrel of a gun.

“I’m glad you’re not a faggot because if you were I would have to blow your brains out.”

Lutz felt air become trapped in his constricting throat. Cold sweat beaded down his back. He was silent even though he wanted to scream. He was still even though he wanted to flee. He was drowning, and Luciano laughed and laughed and laughed.

 

* * *

 

  
Lutz’s body heaved viciously with the force of his vomiting. Tears wet his cheeks and no one was there to kiss them away. He sobbed his shame curled up on the tiles of the bathroom.


End file.
